


Little Rat

by Literally_No_One_Cares



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Canon Typical Swearing, Enemies to Friends, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Burn, Thirdy and Bitty are also both there for like 2.5 seconds, and like 7k words in lol, i guess, i just want everyone to be happy, memtioned Kent/Jack, mentioned Zimbits, there's some porn but it's brief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 15:27:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8629375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Literally_No_One_Cares/pseuds/Literally_No_One_Cares
Summary: After LVA @ PVD, Tater confronts Kent. Kent thinks he's going to get his ass kicked, but when does anything ever go the way he thinks it will?(Alternate title: How Many Names & Nicknames Can I Fit In A Single Fic)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has consumed me for like a week and a half, so I hope you enjoy!
> 
> EDIT
> 
> If you're reading this after the fifteenth of December, it is slightly different. If you want to know why, find me on Tumblr at literally-dont-care or troey-jibiani.

“ _Ох блядский мудак! You liking hit like that so much?? Huh??? I can hit too!_ ”

  
The words are still ringing in Kent’s ears. The pure, seething hatred behind them--he thinks he'll never get used to it. Kent’s been playing hockey his entire life, and he's known for playing dirty, but there's something about the way it makes people react that's always gotten under his skin. Even as he skated away, he could hear Mashkov call him a rat.

  
So here he is, in the locker room, alone. The rest of the Aces are going out to celebrate, but not him.

  
_Little rats who play dirty shouldn't celebrate their cheap victories_ , he tells himself. He knows he only did it out of desperation. He had to, _had to_ win against Jack. And once again, he'd let his emotions get the better of him, and he almost seriously hurt the Falconers’ goalie. Jesus. What kind of idiot goes after a team’s goalie? Does he have a death wish?

  
...ok, maybe he does. Or, he at least lacks any semblance of self preservation.

  
“--блядский, little...rat! Hey! Parson. Knew I not see you leave with team! What is problem? Almost hurt Snowy, and could have won without dirty goal!”

  
Of course. Of course Mashkov would come looking for him. He probably wanted a fight, wanted to show Kent what he deserved after what he did on the ice. Kent barely had time to register that he was shaking, no, he was too busy staring up at Mashkov as he got closer.

  
He shrinks back, away from this man who is much, much larger than Kent, until he finds himself standing in the corner, nowhere else to go. Funny, he doesn't even remember getting up out of his stall.

  
“So? What is excuse? Have to have one, yeah? Did not do on purpose, or could not stop,” Mashkov barks, slamming his fist against the locker next to Kent’s head. “What? What is it, little _rat_ \--”

  
Kent’s heart rate picks up when Mashkov’s hand moves. It's inches away from his throat, when Kent cries out, desperate to save himself.

  
“Just make it quick,” he sobs. He hadn't realized he was crying. He hadn't really had much time to notice, what with Mashkov threatening him. He really hadn't expected how broken he sounded when he spoke. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry, ok? I know I shouldn't have done it, but sometimes I really _can't_ stop myself.”

  
Mashkov’s hand freezes. “Fuck it. Just get it over with. Go on, it's. It's not like this hasn't happened to me before.”

  
Because it has. This is the part where the significantly bigger dude from the other team grabs him by the front of his shirt, bashes his head back against the wall, or maybe punches him so hard he can't remember his own name for half a second.

  
He flinches when Mashkov’s hand reaches its destination, but it's too soft.

  
His hand is resting very, very gently on Kent’s shoulder, and he's looking down at Kent with the most confused expression the Aces captain has ever seen.

  
“Little rat,” he says, so much softer than before. “Who has been hit you so much?”

  
“There’s always someone. Someone that got pissed off after I did something stupid. Sometimes it's on the ice, sometimes it's like this. But it's nothing new,” Kent tells him, trying and failing to keep his voice level. He doesn't know why he says it. He has no reason to trust Mashkov. He could still beat the shit out of him right now.

  
“I not hit you, little rat. Not when you are sad like this,” Mashkov murmurs. He's still looming over Kent though, which he seems to realize then because he takes his hand off Kent and steps back.

  
“I am big guy, people are always expect me to be having big temper. Sometimes, I go along with since is expect of me. I let temper get me because that who people think I am. You play dirty because that who people think you are. Maybe we both need work on this?” Mashkov admits.

  
And, wow. They're really doing this. They're doing this whole heart to heart moment thing, where Kent bears his soul and Mashkov does the same.

  
Oh no. No, no. He's not going to let himself do this.

  
“Maybe,” Kent agrees. Oh god, why can't he shut up? “You should get going, right? Your teammates are probably going out tonight.”

  
“They are. But we are talk sometime, yes? I can give you phone number, so we can talk,” Mashkov suggests.

  
Kent doesn't know why he does it, but he unlocks his phone and hands it over. Mashkov types quickly and hands it back.

  
Kent laughs when he looks down at the screen. He's put his name in as ‘Tater’ with a sweet potato emoji and a hockey stick emoji. “That's cute.”

  
“Team is call me Tater, like mash potato or tater tot. I am thinking because last name is Mashkov. Mashkov, mash potato, tater tot. I am liking nickname very much. You are having any nicknames, little rat?”

  
“People usually just call me Parse, or maybe Parser. My mom calls me Kenny,” Kent says. He leaves out how Jack always called him Kenny, too.

  
“I am liking Little Rat better,” Mashkov muses. The name has capital letters now, Kent can feel it. “If you are not mind, I keep calling you that.”

  
He doesn't. He doesn't mind that at all. “Why don't I go ahead and put my number in your phone too?”

  
“Oh! Yes, of course! Here, is unlock,” Mashkov, Tater, says eagerly. He pushes his phone into Kent’s hands just a little too enthusiastically, but Kent kind of likes the enthusiasm.

  
He types out ‘Kent Parson’ in the space for the contact name, then erases it and puts down ‘Little Rat’ instead.

  
“Ah! You are liking nickname,” Tater says, grinning, when Kent hands him his phone. “Started as not so nice thing, but make into nice thing.”

  
“I'm sure your team is wondering where you are,” Kent reminds him.

  
“Snowy is text me. I’m have to go, but I am call you soon, Little Rat.” Tater turns to leave, but turns back around. “I know you apologize, but I am one who should be sorry. Is wrong for me to intimidate someone smaller than me over play. I'm sorry I almost hurt you, and I'm sorry you been hurt so much. Maybe next time I am keep you from get hurt.”

  
God. Kent couldn't do this, and yet here was, falling so quickly, so easily. Tater has him, hook, line, and sinker, and he doesn't even know it.

* * *

Kent hasn't even bothered to get out of bed today. It's two days after the game, and he doesn't want to exist right now, so he's doing his best to move as little as possible. It has to be at least one in the afternoon, and he hasn't even opened his eyes.

  
‘ _Haters gonna hate hate hate_ \--’

  
Who could that be? Kent rolls over and reaches out blindly for his phone. By the time he finds it, it's already stopped ringing and he has a voicemail.

  
From Mashkov.

  
“ _Hallo, Little Rat, is Tater! I know I'm say I call soon, but I not really say when? Don't have to call back right now if busy. Just. Call soon? Um. Is after noon there, yeah? Is four here, and I am still tired from game and after party, and I am sleep until noon yesterday and today. I am hang up now. Good bye!_ ”

  
Kent tries not to, but he smiles. Mashkov is such a big dork. If Kent didn't know any better, he'd say Tater had a crush on him. He was super awkward and eager, and so nice to Kent. But they aren't in middle school, so Kent’s pretty sure he’s reading too much into this. Tater just wants to be friends.

  
When Kent calls Tater back, he picks up before the second ring.

  
“ _Kent Parson!_ ” God. Kent can actually hear the exclamation points in his voice. This man is a giant overexcited puppy.

  
“Good morning, Tater,” Kent greets him only a little sarcastically.

  
“ _Morning? Are you just wake up? Oh, am I wake you up? I'm sorry_ ,” Tater says, far too sincere for Kent.

  
“It’s ok, I should get out of bed anyway. I need to feed my cat,” Kent brushes off. Speaking of which, Kit just happened to jump up and sit on Kent’s chest right then, in all her furry glory.

  
“ _Oh, Kit Purrson! I am follow her Instagram_ ,” Tater tells him proudly. “ _She is Internet star. Very famous. Maybe more famous than her dad!_ ”

  
This whole being adorable thing that Tater’s doing needs to stop. That's how people catch feels. And Kent does not want to have feelings for Alexei Mashkov.

  
Kit meows, loudly, and paws at Kent’s face. “ _Hallo, Kit! Are you look for breakfast?_ ”

  
Kent eyes Kit. _Traitor_. He shifts, sitting up, so that she'll get off of him and actually let him out of bed. She darts away from him, barely clearing the cracked door on her way to the kitchen.

  
“Don't encourage her,” Kent jokes. “She’s getting a little chubby. I was thinking of putting her on a diet.”

  
Kit can be heard protesting from the other room.

  
“ _No, no diet. She is not fat, she just fluffy. More of her to love! Like me. I am big guy, more of me to love_ ,” Tater argues. “ _No diet. Big kitty is just as beautiful as small kitty. No body shame Kit Purrson._ ”

  
A startled laugh escapes Kent. He hadn’t realized Mashkov was this funny. “Ok. I won't body shame Kit.”

  
He gets up and goes to the kitchen, where Kit is mid jump, about to land on the counter. “No! Bad kitty! No counters!” he chastises her. She leaps down, landing with a less than graceful _thunk_ , and looks back up at him. “Ok, ok. Daddy’s getting your food. Calm down.”

  
She meows, louder than before, and higher pitched. “ _Kit is drama queen. All this complaining just over breakfast? Little Rat, maybe you are needing to feed her on better schedule._ ”

  
“Normally I do, I just slept in late today so this is really lunch time. I doubt missing one meal could really hurt her that badly,” Kent tells Mashkov as he sets down Kit’s dish. “And I leave her dry food out. She likes the wet food more, though.”

  
“ _Is sounding like cat is a lot of work. I am thinking I want to have pet, but not knowing what I am do when on roadies._ ”

  
Kent leans against the counter and watches Kit eat. “I have a neighbor who watches her while I'm gone. She has a cat of her own, and they get along pretty well.”

  
“ _That is good. Good that Kit is have a kitty friend_ ,” Tater says, then pauses. “ _I am not really call to talk about Kit Purrson, as much as I am like her. I was thinking of asking when we can get together sometime? Maybe a weekend you can come to Providence? Or I come to you. Either way is work for me._ ”

  
Oh? Tater wants to hang out? That could be pretty difficult, for a long distance friendship, but they could make it work. Kent glances to where his calendar hangs on the wall to see when he’s free.

  
“There's no reason I couldn't come this weekend. We don't have a game this week, but we do the next two. What about you guys?”

  
“ _You are in luck, Little Rat! We are having game this weekend, but is home game. I can get you ticket to game if you like? No have to come to game though. Is just suggestion_ ,” Tater tells him eagerly. “ _So, Kent Parson. Will I be seeing you soon here?_ ”

  
“I wouldn't mind coming to your game, Tater. I might need to come in a disguise to avoid a press fiasco, but yeah, it'll be fine other than that. I'll look at flights and let let you know when I'm going to be there, all right?”

  
“ _Ok, Little Rat. I am see you soon! Tell Kit I am big fan!_ ”

  
He's in too deep. He's in way too deep and he knows it, but there's no way out now. “See you soon, big guy.”

  
Kent Parson officially has feelings for Alexei Mashkov.

* * *

Kent flies to Providence on Friday after practice, and Mashkov waits for him at the airport. Hardly anyone recognizes him, and the only person who does does so on the plane, before he can be spotted with Mashkov.

  
“Hallo, Little Rat!” Tater beams when he finds Kent at the baggage claim. Before he knows what’s happening, Tater has lifted him up off the ground in a bone crushing hug, then set him back down again before Kent gets much of a chance to hug him back. “Is good see you. Game is Sunday night, so today and tomorrow you are having me all to yourself. Are you eat on plane?”

  
“Yeah, but it sucked,” Kent replies truthfully. His inner stand up comedian is making jokes about airline food while his outer hockey player picks up his suitcase.

  
“Not good! We are eat someplace on way home. Hockey players like us are needing lots of calories to stay in shape. Even if you are teeny tiny hockey player.” Mashkov’s hand settles on the middle of Kent’s back, and he doesn't seem to miss the way it makes Kent flinch at first, but neither of them acknowledge it out loud.

  
“I am average size,” Kent grumbles. It's light hearted; he knows Tater is joking, and so is he.

  
“Average size? Yes. Average for hockey player? No. You are little, Little Rat. Is why I am calling you this in first place.” Mashkov curls his fingers around Kent’s hip, just because he can. His hands are big enough that his palm is still on Kent’s back, even with his grip shifting. It's doing Things to Kent.

  
Mashkov's hand stays on Kent all the way to the car. Which is almost comical. Alexei Mashkov is a big guy, but his car?

  
The guy drives a fucking dark blue Prius C.

  
“Uh, nice car, man,” Kent says, trying desperately not to laugh. He's also not thinking about his own car, sitting in the parking deck back home. It's a hybrid too, but Kent’s not a 6’4” Russian man that could deadlift Kent’s body weight. “It's. It's a hybrid, right?”

  
“Is being good for environment! Snowy and Thirdy laugh at it, but I say is better than Marty’s DeLorean. Marty says is supposed to be a reference to some movie I am not see,” Tater tells him as he opens the back and puts Kent’s bag in. He could have done it himself, but it's nice to have someone think to do something for him.

  
“It's Back to the Future. The main character's name is--we can watch it, so you can get the joke, if you want,” Kent explains.

  
“Would very much like watch movie with you.” Tater walks around to the passenger’s side and opens the door for him as well. “I am not eating the fast food very often, but I am really feeling like the Burger King right now? If you are not want, is fine. Eat some place else.”

  
“Burger King’s good,” Kent says. “You can definitely eat a lot of calories there, anyway.”

  
“I am always need more food!” Tater laughs. His laugh is loud, booming. The entire parking lot has to be able to hear him. Even when he gets in the car, he can still be heard. “Is why I am hang out with Zimmboni so much. He is always having so much pie. His little baker friend is making him so much goodies, so I am help him eat some of it.”

  
Jack. That's right. Tater’s Jack’s teammate. Of course they're friends. Why shouldn't they be?

  
Does that mean it doesn't hurt to hear Tater talk about Jack? Absolutely not. Even now, when Kent thinks he might be able to move on, the person he wants to move on with is tied up in Jack’s life too. It's like Kent can't get away from Jack, now that he’s finally ready to.

  
“You and Zimmboni play together when kids, yeah?”

  
“We did,” Kent most definitely does not sigh, “I haven't really talked to him in a long time. I doubt he would want to talk to me. I haven't exactly been--”

  
“I am sure whatever reason Zimmboni not talking to you is just misunderstanding,” Tater cuts in. The scenery flies by Kent without sinking in as they pull onto an exit with a sign for a Burger King. “Is not really what I am expecting, that Zimmboni. I am told to expect very serious, kind of mean, based off of recent press, and from rumors I am supposed to expect party animal. But he is being neither. He love hockey, but is not robot, and he is happy guy, but seems to have a one drink limit. I am like this about him, that he is not what expect. Like me. I am big, but am not angry. And like you, too. You play dirty sometimes, but you are secretly big softie. Well, little softie.”

  
“My therapist seems to think I'm a very emotional person,” Kent snips. Tater doesn't acknowledge the therapist part, which he likes.

  
“You are emotional person! Just having many layers.”

  
“Like an onion?”

  
“Yes? Is this one another movie thing, that I am not getting?” Tater looks away from the road, and GOD, he really shouldn't be this damn cute.

  
“We can watch that movie too,” Kent chuckles. “It's a cartoon, but some of the humor is more adult-oriented. And there's, like, a million sequels.”

  
“Drive through, or go in and eat?”

  
Oh. While Kent was being moody, they had pulled up to the Burger King. He thinks about it for a second. This is Mashkov’s town, so people are probably used to him by now. And who in Providence follows the Aces? They have very little risk of being recognized by someone who would actually care; there's no reason they can't eat inside.

  
“Let's go in, it's easier than eating in the car,” Kent says decidedly.

  
“You right. I am always get ketchup on shirt if eat in car, and then have to buy new shirt! Am too messy for own good.

  
Twenty minutes later, they're in the back corner of the fast food joint, with three Whoppers and a whole hell of a lot of fries, plus two pieces of Oreo cheesecake.

  
“Jesus,” Kent whispers, looking down at the mountain of food between them, “you weren't kidding about eating a lot. Holy shit.”

  
“I am preferring you call me Tater,” Mashkov snickers. It takes Kent a few embarrassing seconds to get the joke.

  
“Ha _ha_ ,” Kent fake laughs. Tater throws one of his many fries at Kent without putting down his first burger, which is halfway gone in two bites. The fry lands in the pocket of his shirt, and he laughs for real.

  
“Goal!” Tater cheers. He talks with his mouth full, yet Kent can't bring himself to care.

  
Tater’s foot touches his under the table, and doesn't move. Kent tries to rationalize that, he really does, because this feels a lot like a date. _Mashkov is a fucking tall guy. He's got long legs. He probably doesn't have anywhere else to put his feet._

  
“Little Rat, where are you go? Your mind walk off and leave rest of you here,” Mashkov asks, pelting Kent with more fries.

  
“I spaced out for a minute,” Kent excuses lamely. Oh well. At least it's believable. “Sorry, I'll try not to do it again.”

  
Tater grunts in reply, then shifts in his seat and--did his feet just get closer to Kent’s again, or is Kent imagining that? “I am sorry about bring up Zimmboni before. If is tough subject, I am not bring up again.”

  
“You don't have to stop talking about someone just because I have issues,” Kent dismisses.

  
“But if Zimmboni is reason you are having issues, I should not be talking about him so much,” Tater reasons. “Tell me truth. Should I not bring up Zomboni?”

  
Kent groans. “I'll tell you my whole tragic backstory later, ok? Right now, I don't want to think about it. Jack’s one of your friends, your teammate. You can't just not talk about him every time I'm around you.”

  
“Are have good point...you are not have to tell me anything, though. And I not ask Zimmboni about it,” Tater assures him. He places a fry-grease covered hand on top of Kent’s. “Kent--Kenny. If is painful for you, no have to tell.”

  
“I mean, if we’re really going to be friends, I should tell you. I don't have many close friends, and I would like to be able to have that with you,” Kent admits. “Friends should be able to tell each other everything, right?”

  
“We are be best friends, Little Rat. Well, Snowy is best friend, but you can be best friend too,” Tater agrees.

  
“No wonder you were so mad when I slid into him,” Kent mutters under his breath, but he knows Mashkov can still hear him. “Ok, so I guess we're doing the tragic backstory thing later.”

  
“If is what you are wanting.”

* * *

  
Mashkov’s apartment is nice. The living room has ceiling to floor windows, as do both of the bedrooms, and it's decorated better than Kent would have expected. His bedding is Falconers’ blue, which is hilarious to Kent. The walls hold pictures of Mashkov as a child with his family, and some awkward teen years as well, and a few more current ones with his teammates.

  
There's an add from the newspaper about animals in the local shelter open on the coffee table, Kent notices, after his brief tour and putting his suitcase in the guest room.

  
“Looking to adopt?” Kent asks as Mashkov settles into the couch. He switches on the TV and scans channels, until stopping on a movie channel that's showing the Princess Bride.

  
“I am liking this movie. I am see once before,” Tater tells him, “And yes. I am say on phone I am wanting pet, and I am talk to nice older lady across hall about pet sitting. Am thinking of getting big dog, take on morning run with me.”

  
“I can see you with a big drippy mutt,” Kent hums.

  
“I am thinking I will name dog Pawtato Mashpaws, like Kit Purrson?”

  
Kent laughs, even though Tater is dead serious. “Please name your dog Pawtato. God, please. Make him an Instagram page too, I promise to follow it.”

  
“Speaking of, you are not following my Instagram, Little Rat. I am offended, since I am follow you _and_ Kit,” Tater says, sounding accusatory but still beaming at Kent.

  
“I didn't know that was a problem. I'll follow you now. What--”

  
“Tater_Maskov7,” Tater interrupts.

  
_This man is a giant overexcited puppy._ Kent makes a show of pulling his phone out of his back pocket, typing in his password instead of using his thumbprint, and liking through all of his apps before scrolling back to the first page and opening Instagram. He types slowly, but he can only drag this out for so long.

  
He's floored when he sees Mashkov's account. Holy. Fucking. Shit. It's mostly shirtless, post workout pictures, interspersed with group selfies of the Falconers, and the occasional candid shot of one of his teammates doing something stupid.

  
Kent’s tiny, bisexual heart can barely handle this. Why wasn't he following Tater before?

  
If Tater notices the blush rising on Kent’s face, he very politely ignores it. “There! Now we are being mutuals. Snowy is tell me what that means.”

  
“I think that's more of a Tumblr thing,”

  
“What is Tumblr?”

  
“A hellish website that you should stay away from if you have a single shred of dignity.”

  
Tater looks at him funny. “Ok then,” he says. Kent thinks they're done talking, but Tater drops a hand down on his knee. “We are do ‘tragic backstories’ now?”

  
Kent grimaces (even if Mashkov’s still touching his leg because _AH FUCK HE’S TOUCHING KENT’S LEEEEEG_ ). He said he would tell Tater...he has to do this. “Let’s see...I grew up in a shitty New York apartment, with a single mom and my younger sister, because my dad walked out when I was three, all the kids in my grade made fun of me because I was short and had daddy issues but then I got really good at hockey so they stopped, and then I was homeschooled for most of high school so I could play even more hockey.”

  
Tater raises an eyebrow, and Kent takes that to mean he needs to talk about what he’s really supposed to tell Tater. “Then I met this insanely wonderful boy.” Kent’s throat is dry. He’s never come out to someone on an opposing team before, only to his family and a select few of his teammates. Not to mention the fact that he’s about to out Jack, against his will, to one of Jack’s close friends. “I, um. I wanted to make a move on him, but I wasn’t brave enough, so I waited until we had just won a game, and somebody had snuck in booze. We both got really drunk--which, I really shouldn’t have let him do because he wasn’t supposed to drink with his meds. But anyway, I kissed him, and he kissed me back, and then...we had a lot of sex. I fell in love with him, but Jack...Jack didn’t feel the same way about me. And the shitty thing is I knew, I knew, and I thought, maybe if I keep sleeping with him, I can make him fall for me.

  
“Of course, that didn’t work, but I was young and stupid. I guess I still am, because I still care about Jack. Last year, I went to his stupid school and tried to convince him to sign with Aces, and then I tried to kiss him--I just, I know it was never real, and I know I need to move on, but I also know that Jack will probably never forgive me now....and please, please don’t say anything to Jack. He can’t know that I told you.”

  
Mashkov’s hand? Is still? On Kent’s leg? Maybe even a little higher than it was before? Kent wouldn’t have noticed if Tater hadn’t just squeezed his thigh.

  
“Little Rat, I promise I am not telling Jack, or anyone, anything you are telling me in private. Ever,” Tater assures him quietly. “For what is worth, I am think Jack will forgive you if you are sit down and talk, and I am thinking Jack’s baker maybe not just be friend...Perhaps I am doing tragic backstory now, also?”

  
“You don’t have to,” Kent tells him, and he actually means it.

  
“No, no. Is only fair, after you are telling me so much,” Mashkov insists. “I am grow up in Russia--”

  
“I couldn’t tell.”

  
“I am grow up in Russia,” Tater repeats. He tries to frown, but his eyes betray him. “Russia...is not good place for people like me. I am dream of come to America for long time, even though I am knowing if I am being myself in America I can never go home. I am have three brothers and two sisters, by the way. We are big family. Anyway, when I am come to America, I am find out that even though America is safer for me than Russia, still cannot really be me here. But I am working on making America home, and someday I am tell everyone who I am.”

  
Mashkov seems to be afraid to meet Kent’s eyes. “Tater, are you…?”

  
“I figure you are coming out to me, I should be coming out to you too,” Tater mumbles. “You are not alone, Little Rat. You, me, and Zimmboni. Probably more. You are first person I am tell. Ever. Not my mother. Not my sisters. Not even Snowy.”

  
“Tater, I…”

  
“You are call me Alexei, maybe?” Mashkov looks so damn hopeful. The universe just dropped this overexcited puppy in Kent’s lap, and he's looking at Kent like it's somehow the other way around.

  
“Alexei, thank you for trusting me with this. No one has really trusted me with anything for a long time. Not even myself, I guess,” Kent says.

  
“Of course I am trusting you, Little Rat! You are so open with me, deserve same thing back. Not because is required tradeoff, but because is something you are need in your life that I am not thinking you are have. Really need a friend.”

  
Friend. Why does that sting? Kent knows he has a chance, small as it may be, and yet the word friend holds him back.

  
“I’m going to fuck this up,” Kent warns.

  
But Mashkov, he’s still smiling, and he pulls Kent into his side. “You are not same as when teenager, and I am not being like Zimmboni.”

  
Kent doesn't know what to do with that.

* * *

  
Saturday, they go to Walmart and buy Back to the Future, and Shrek. They stay in for the rest of the day, and Tater becomes slightly more educated on American movies.

  
In between movies, Tater’s mom calls him on Skype.

  
“ _Lyoshenka! You are not telling me you are have friend over_ ,” she says when the camera comes into focus. Her English seems to be similar to her son’s. “ _What is name?_ ”

  
“Ma, this friend Kent Parson. He is play hockey too, for team in Las Vegas,” Tater tells her.

  
“It's nice to meet you Mrs. Mashkov,” Kent greets her.

  
“ _No! котенок, you are call me Bronislava, or Bronina. Mrs. Mashkov is being too formal_ ,” she fusses. “ _Is good Lyosha is making friends outside of his team._ ”

  
They talk for a while, mostly in Russian, before Mashkov says something in a voice that has the distinct sound of ‘ok mother I wanted to hang up twenty minutes ago please mother for the love of god hang up.’

  
“ _Boys, I am going now. котенок, is nice meeting you. Don't meet many of Lyosha’s friends. For reason is easy to know. Bye, Lyoshenka! You do good in game tomorrow!_ ”

  
Kent waits for the call to disconnect. “What did she call me?”

  
“What is being word for small cat? I am forgetting,” Alexei asks, in lieu of an actual answer.

  
“Your mom called me kitten.” Tater nods. “And what did she call you?”

  
“Lyoshenka. Is like nickname of nickname? Regular nickname for Alexei is Alyosha, or just Lyosha like my mom is call me. Then Alyoshenka and Alyoshka are like more nicknames for Alyosha. So my mother is call me Lyoshenka,” Tater explains. “Is like when I call Little Rat, or your team calls you Parser.”

  
“Would it bother you if I called you Alyosha? Am I even saying that right?” Kent asks shyly.

  
“You are say perfect. We are watch next movie now.”

* * *

  
Sunday, however, isn't as relaxed. Kent signed up for this, he reminds himself, as he watches the game with growing discomfort. So far, no one has looked too closely at him. He's wearing a floral SnapBack, pulled down maybe a little too far, and avoiding eye contact with anyone and everyone.

  
He makes it through the game ok. Mashkov asks him to wait for him near the locker room, and that's where things go to shit.

  
Why? Because Jack Zimmermann walks out of the locker room before Alexei does.

  
“Kent?”

  
_Don't look don't look don't look don't look_ \--

  
“What the fuck, Kent? Why are you here?” Zimmermann snarls. And he has every right to. Kent was a dick.

  
“I'm not here to bother you, Jack,” Kent sighs. He still won't look. If he looks up, if he sees Jack--he doesn't know what he'll say.

  
“Bullshit,” Jack says. “You don't just fly to Providence and come to my game because you wanted to see it. Why are you here?”

  
Now Kent's just mad. He finally snaps his head up and meets Jack’s eyes, and takes a step closer. “Why I'm here has nothing to do with you, so it's none of your business. I can come to a goddamn hockey game, to see a friend who _asked me to be here_ , and it not have a damn thing to do with you.”

  
Jack’s still not buying it, but the door opens again and thank whatever powers that be, it's Tater. He has his bag slung over his shoulder and he's grinning, until he sees the confrontation he's interrupting.

  
“Little Rat, Zimmboni. I am seeing you are run into each other,” Alexei says awkwardly.

  
Jack glances sideways at Tater, then back at Kent. “What the hell.”

  
“Little Rat and I are having--what is called? Heart to heart, last week after game. I invite him to come stay with me for weekend, and get him ticket for game,” Mashkov tells him, like this is somehow a situation that makes sense.

  
Jack’s still thunderstruck. “You know, Little Rat, this would be good time for you to--”

  
“You are not finishing that sentence, and you're taking me back to your apartment,” Kent demands, grabbing Mashkov’s wrist and pulling him toward the exit. If he really wanted to, Tater could stop him, so Kent takes his compliance to mean that he understands that Kent can't talk to Jack right now.

  
They get outside, and to the car, and Kent crumples. He at least made it that far, which is better than breaking down in front of Jack.

  
He's sobbing, pulling off his hat and throwing it onto the pavement. Tater probably thinks he cries almost constantly by now. Even if he does, Kent doesn't care, because it's starting to be close to the truth. Alexei puts his hand on Kent's shoulder and Kent still flinches (it's not like he can help his reflexes), and he pulls Kent in to him. This, this is what Kent needs. A good hug from a human brick wall.

  
“He was so--so mad. He can't stand me. And he assumed that I was just there to pick another fight with him. Like, I don't have a life of my own or something. Fuck, Alexei, I don't--I can't--I want to be friends with Zimms, I really do, but he hates me, really really hates me. And it's not like I'm nice to him, because I'm not. At all. I'm a complete bag of dicks every time we're in the same room,” Kent speaks against Tater’s shirt.

  
“Is defense mechanism,” Tater whispers into the top of Kent’s head. “You are scared he is hurt you, so you are hurt first. I am doing sometimes too. Although, I am do with fists.”

  
Kent tightens his arms around Alexei’s midsection. “You know you're actually the best human being alive, right?”

  
“Funny, I am thinking same thing about you,” Alexei laughs.

  
“Shut the fuck up, that's so corny,” Kent guffaws, pushing Tater away. He smacks at Tater’s arm, still laughing uncontrollably even with tears in his eyes and his face red and blotchy.

  
“I am not understanding? Is true, and you are say first,” Alexei questions.

  
“It's still cheesy,” Kent mutters, swatting Mashkov away from him. He manages to get a hand on Kent’s face to wipe at the tear stains with his thumb.

  
“I am liking you better happy like this,” he says softly.

  
“Fucking cheesy,” Kent whines.

* * *

  
The next morning, Kent's home. He missed an optional skate, but he thinks that's fine. There's a reason it's called optional. Even if he is the captain.

  
For the next few weeks, he and Mashkov text a lot, and interact on Twitter and Instagram.

  
The next time he sees Mashkov in person, however, is when they’re playing against each other again. The game is in Vegas this time. They've agreed that Mashkov’s staying through the day after, and flying home on Monday. He’ll miss his own optional skate, but neither of them seem to care.

  
It's a simple plan, and should be fine.

  
In an interview before the game, reporters are shoving tape recorders in Kent’s face, asking him if he's intimidated to be playing against Alexei Mashkov, since Mashkov threatened him the last time they were on the ice together.

  
“Tater?” Kent muses, “No, I'm not scared of him. The guy’s a big Russian teddy bear. Anything that happens on the ice stays on the ice. I'm more scared of my cat than I am of Mashkov.”

  
They ask more questions, and Kent honestly can't remember a single one of them by the time his skates touch the rink.

  
The game is going ok, and the Falconers are up 4-2. Kent’s about to score, and he makes the shot, but seconds later he's been checked so hard he’s on his ass on the ice. It's Robinson, Tater’s line partner, standing over him when he finds the presence of mind to look up.

  
“You're not going to hit Snowy again,” Robinson spits.

  
People are yelling, there are other players skating over, and Kent’s overwhelmed. He hopes he's maintaining his well practiced, fake resting bitch face, because he'd hate to show emotion right now.

  
“Little Rat!”

  
Tater skates over, and Snowy and one of the forwards are pulling him away, but he shakes them off. Kent thinks he hears someone saying he should start a fight; he can't be sure though.

  
“Thirdy,” Mashkov says calmly, “Kent Parson was nowhere near Snowy this time. He is making fair shot. And make goal too. Is impressive, since you are attack him for no reason in middle of shot.”

  
Swoops is there too, trying to help Kent up, but Kent’s not paying attention to him. He's too busy hanging on every word Tater says.

  
“Little Rat, are you ok?” Alexei asks, extending a gloved hand to held Kent up. He takes it, much to the confusion of Swoops.

  
“'m fine, Alyosha. I just didn't know he was coming. I guess I wasn't paying attention,” Kent says. “It's no big deal. I kind of deserved it anyway.”

  
Robinson--Thirdy, apparently--is floored. Last month, Tater was ready to drop gloves and mop the floor with Kent.

  
Kent enjoys confusing people, just a little.

  
He doesn't know it, but Jack is staring at them from a few feet away, taking it all in. The smile on Kent’s face at the sight of Tater. The way Tater defends Kent to his team. The way Kent doesn't even notice his own line mate trying to get his attention.

* * *

  
Somewhere between barely knowing the guy and being in denial, Kent Parson has fallen in love with Alexei. It's not a thing he's very comfortable admitting.

  
“How'd that trip to the shelter go on Thursday?”

  
He doesn't know how he's doing this. This casual conversation seems nearly impossible when all he wants to do is stare at Tater for hours in silence.

  
“I am seeing dog I am like. Volunteer is saying he is Saint Bernard mixed with a few other things. Is very big, almost as big as you!”

  
Kent turns down the volume on his TV. “Sounds perfect for you.”

  
“Are you like dogs? I am not even think to ask before,” Tater says, turning to him. Kit is lounging across his lap, happy as a clam. She figured out early on that her house guest is like a living heater. “I would not want dog if you are not like.”

  
“I'm more of a cat person, but dogs are great too. They're more excitable, that's for sure,” Kent replies. This feels...super domestic. “Why wouldn't you want a dog if I didn't like them, though?”

  
“I am wanting you be in Providence a lot. How can you stay if you are not liking dog?”

  
He has a point, but it's still not exactly right. It's not like they're dating or anything. “I’d still come see you, even if I hated dogs.”

  
“Is good,” Tater hums contentedly. “I am care about you a lot, Little Rat. Would do just about anything for you.”

  
Alexei’s arm settles around Kent’s shoulders on the back of the couch. Oh. _Oh_. For the first time in a while, Kent thinks this is something he can have. Something he's allowed to have. He can fall in love with Tater, and not completely ruin it.

  
“Alyosha...I didn't realize…”

  
“Is drive me crazy when you are calling me that,” Alexei admits. “If you are not feeling same way as me, I am understanding. But I am thinking you should know, whether you are feel same or not.”

  
Kent almost laughs and cries at the same time. “I feel the same way you do. God, I really really do.”

  
“I am preferring you call me Alyosha,” Alexei chuckles, before he gets serious. “I am in love with you, Kent Parson.”

  
“Then it's a good thing I love you too,” Kent says sweetly. He moves closer, giving Alexei time to move, and kisses him. It feels like coming home, like this is where he's supposed to be forever.

  
“Little Rat. We are moving this to bedroom?”

  
Kent’s never heard a better idea in his life. He has a type, he’s not against saying it. He likes big strong hockey players that can easily pick him up and carry him around. He also has a little bit of thing for foreign accents. So it was really inevitable that he would love Tater, because Tater’s his type. When Alexei Mashkov, god bless his soul, puts his hands underneath his thighs and lifts him up off the couch, then carries him to his, maybe their, bedroom, with Kent’s legs wrapped around his waist, Kent’s gone.

  
He's even more elated when his back hits the bed and Alexei crawls over him.

  
“Um, we can't, uh, during the season--” Kent stammers. Which is only a little embarrassing. He is a grown ass man, he should be able to say the word anal without blushing like a twelve year old.

  
“Don't worry Little Rat, I am know we are not doing that right now,” Tater assures him. “We can do whatever you are want. Or nothing at all.”

  
“I want to suck your dick. Like, right now.”

  
Tater grins. “You are getting right to point.”

  
“Hey, I’ve wasted enough time already. I've had feelings for you since you called me after we played against each other in Providence.”

  
“That is long time,” Tater teases. “But I am having no place to talk, since I am fall for you in away-team locker room.”

  
“Ok, too cheesy, not enough dick sucking is happening right now,” Kent whines.

  
Alexei rolls over and pulls Kent with him, effectively flipping their positions. “You are always think is too cheesy when I am telling you true things.”

  
Instead of being a smartass and saying something in reply, Kent slinks down Alexei’s body and undoes his fly. Alexei shifts to allow his jeans to come all the way off; he then sits up and pulls off his shirt. Kent waits for him to lay back down to openly look him up and down.

  
“You are seeing something you are liking?”

  
“ _Please_ shut up,” Kent groans. He knows that Tater knows just how fucking beautiful he is. He takes (and posts) enough pictures to know that hockey fans everywhere envy him and also want to jump his bones.

  
Kent pulls at the waistband of Alexei’s boxers and manages not to comment on the fact that they have kittens on them, freeing his dick.

  
And _wow_. Kent’ll admit he's seen a lot of dicks in his lifetime as a closeted hockey player in Vegas, but goddamn that's a beautiful dick. There's really not much to any dick, they're basically the same, and yet Alexei’s? Is? Just fucking nice to look at?

  
He's uncut, and just as big as Kent would have expected. His mouth waters, but he remembers something.

  
“Um, you're clean, right?” Kent asks.

  
“Yes. I am getting tested after I am meet Zimmboni’s very loud mustache friend. He is tell us all how important is for to be safe,” Alexei tells him. Kent thinks he remembers someone like that being a part of the SMH. “And you are too?”

  
“Yeah, I convinced the whole team to get tested every six months. I want to keep my boys healthy out there on the ice,” Kent replies. One of the rookies is HIV positive, and Kent hounds him about taking his meds and taking good care of himself. Poor kid got it from his high school sweetheart, after she cheated on him.

  
But Kent really shouldn't be thinking about that right now. He has much better things to focus on.

  
Kent pulls back Alexei’s foreskin. He moans, a deep rumble that Kent wants to hear over and over again for the rest of his life. He dips down and takes the head in, pressing his tongue against the slit, then slowly takes more.

  
Alexei’s hips buck up. Kent puts a hand on his hip, in a feeble attempt to hold him down, but he isn't really against the idea of Alexei fucking his mouth.

  
He swallows around Alexei, drawing out another long moan, and bobs his head. Kent’s no pornstar, but he likes to think he gives a decent blowjob, and Alexei seems to be in agreement.

  
Alexei’s hands tangle in his hair. “F-fuck, Kenny--” there's a string of unintelligible Russian following his cries.

  
Kent reaches down and palms his own erection through his pants. Alexei’s tugging at his hair, probably trying to get him to pull off so he doesn't come in Kent’s mouth. Kent hums around his dick in an attempt to tell Alexei that he doesn't mind. Either he gets the point across or Alexei just can't hold himself back, because he he's coming down Kent’s throat seconds later.

  
Kent’s own orgasm sneaks up on him. He's not aware that he's about to come and then it feels like waves of fire inside of every last nerve.

  
When he pulls off Alexei’s cock, Alexei has come down from his high and is apologizing for coming in Kent’s mouth.

  
Kent makes a show of swallowing, wiping come from his face, and licking his fingers “I just came in my pants like a teenager and you’re apologizing for making that happen?”

  
“Oh,” Alexei breathes, “I am not knowing you are like so much. God, you amazing.”

  
Kent breaks into a wide, shit eating grin. “I prefer to be called Kent.”

  
Alexei hits him with a pillow, even though they're both laughing.

* * *

  
Kent’s cat sitter is working a lot more lately. She usually only has to come over during away games, but now that Kent is dating Alexei, she has to watch Kit when he steals away to Providence every chance he gets.

  
They're plastered together on Alexei’s couch, with Pawtato laying across their laps, and on the other side of the country, Kit is being pampered by the elderly woman who lives down the hall.

  
“Do you think Kit and Pawtato will like each other?” Kent asks, breaking the comfortable silence that they had been enjoying.

  
“Pawtato is being Kit’s brother, they are going to love each other,” Tater assures him. “He is gentle giant, like his dad, and Kit likes lay on big warm things, so will be fine.”

  
Pawtato lifts his head to lock eyes with Alexei. He gets himself a nice pet on the head, and an ear skritch.

  
“I know everybody says cats and dogs hate each other, but when I was little my sister got a puppy for Christmas, and we already had a cat, and they were like partners in crime.”

  
“Like us!” Tater beams. “We are being best partners in crime.”

  
Kent's smiles, and they shift back into silence. It's nice, just sitting and being quiet together--existing but not doing anything, just for a little while. Though, there is one itty bitty thing nagging Kent from the back of his mind.

  
“I think I'm ready to talk to Jack,” he announces without preamble. “Do you think...could you ask him if he would be ok with that?”

  
Alexei nods and kisses the top of Kent’s head. “I can do. I am happy you are being ready.”

  
“Thanks, Alyoshenka. I don't know what I would do without you,” Kent says sweetly. “Ech, that was so corny.”

  
“I am know what you would do without me. Be sad lonely cat man, stay in apartment all day and sleep ‘til late in afternoon. I am best boyfriend for make sure you are not do these things,” Alexei teases.

  
“Shut the fuck up,” Kent groans, covering his eyes.

  
“Am not shutting up. I am love you! Must tell you,” Tater laughs. He pulls Kent’s hand off his eyes. “I love you, Little Rat.”

  
“I love you too, Lyoshenka,” Kent says, only a little exasperated.

  
He thinks about his sister’s ridiculous dog, and his cat. The cat was older than the dog, but when the cat passed away, the dog was so grief stricken that it died within the same week. Those two, they really loved each other, even though one was a big goofy dog and the other was a petty little cat.

  
It's like Alexei is the big ridiculous dog to his small sarcastic house cat.

* * *

  
The next week, Kent is sitting stiffly on Jack’s couch. His boyfriend, Bittle’s his name, is in the kitchen with Alexei, who’s teaching him his mother's blini recipe.

  
Jack is sitting just as rigid on the other side of the couch. They're supposed to be talking, but after Bittle and Alexei left the room, neither one of them knew what to say.

  
“I'm sorry,” Kent starts. “I'm so sorry.”

  
He averts his gaze so he doesn't have to see Jack’s face. He knows that Jack’s looking at him with so much pity right now. “What are you sorry for? I knew how you felt and I kept coming back, then I pushed you away, and cut you out of my life,” Jack asks. “If anyone should be sorry, it's me.”

  
“I was pressuring you. I was pressuring you into a relationship you didn't want, I was pressuring you to drink, I probably made your anxiety worse, and then I had the nerve to come to your school and yell at you when I knew you didn't want to see me. I should be sorry. And I am,” Kent disagrees.

  
“I was leading you on, Kent. Everything after that was a direct result of me leading you on,” Jack insists. “I'm the one who made you feel the way you did. It's my fault. I'm really sorry, Kenny.”

  
Kent fails to keep in a hollow laugh. “You're so damn Canadian. Apologizing when I'm trying to apologize to you.”

  
“I'm sorey,” Jack says, grinning. “I'm so sorey aboot what I did.”

  
Kent laughs again, fuller, happier. “Shut up you Canadian fuck.”

  
He's shocked. He didn't think it would be this easy to get back what he had with Jack before their disaster of a fling. It was so natural, like nothing had changed.

  
“I still love you.”

  
Kent just throws it out there and Jack doesn't say anything. “It's not the same anymore,” he amends, “but I love you, Zimms. Just, not the way I used to.”

  
“Do you love Tater?”

  
Kent smiles. “So much. And it's so much better, healthier. This is the first real relationship I've ever had, but I think Alyosha’s it for me.”

  
“I'm pretty sure Bitty’s it for me too,” Jack sighs.

  
“Look at us. All grown up and in love,” Kent muses. “Who knew we'd make it this far? You're, like, an old man now. You went to college and everything.”

  
“Boys!” Bitte calls from the kitchen, “we have blini’s in here with your names on ‘em! Y’all come eat some and tell me if they're any good.”

  
“Beettle, I am telling you is good. Almost just like mama make,” Tater says.

  
Kent and Jack finally make eye contact. Jack looks different than the last time he saw him, Kent thinks. It's like someone--Bittle--thawed out the ice inside him so he could feel again. It's a good look on him, his big dumb heart eyes. He's so in love, and Kent thought that would hurt him, but he's happy for Jack.

  
“Little Rat, Zimmboni, come on! You are coming eat now!”

  
Kent's happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Is good? Yes or no? It's my first time writing this pairing but I really really needed to write this


End file.
